


No Pressure (Or Maybe Pressure, If You Need It)

by superagentwolf



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Gen, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Pararibulitis (Dirk Gently), Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Slash, Protect Dirk Gently, Todd Not Being An Asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 12:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12748608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: Todd is, at first, insulted that Farah and Amanda feel the need to tell him to "look after Dirk". Honestly, though, they're not wrong. Todd is a shit excuse for a human being, much less friend. But Dirk is going to have to work through Blackwing and the last two cases at some point, and Todd is going to help him. Or at least, help him ignore it long enough. Best Friends are supposed to do that.





	1. Just Hang with Me and My Weather

Things aren’t quite how they should be, or maybe they are and he should have learned better than to have expectations by now. Either way, everyone is somehow miraculously intact- or at least, Farah and Amanda and Dirk and Todd are fine. And the Rowdies, but they’re not really on his list because he’s pretty sure they’ll always be able to get out of trouble just as easily as they cause it.

Anyway, the point of the story is that he’s fine and Dirk is fine and they’re all peachy keen, back home- or at least whatever ‘home’ is provided by Todd’s busted-up apartment.

Farah had taken off to meet Lydia for a break, citing ‘no time like now, really- no, I mean _really_ , I might not even make it past the airport security, at this rate’. Amanda went who knows where with the Rowdies, fauxhawk-ponytail swinging as she pulled herself into the rocking van. And- in a very predictable twist of fate- Todd was left with Dirk. Except it was more than just being left with him; he’d been pulled aside by _both_ Farah and Amanda before they’d taken off, both messages equally dire, despite their radically different delivery.

“Will you…look after him, okay?” Farah’s request had turned into a directive, because that’s what she’s used to, and Todd had frowned a little.

“Yeah, of course. I-,”

“No, Todd. I mean, _look after him_. He…I know he… _told_ you things, a little, over this last case. But…what happened to him when they took him- even _before_ , too- that doesn’t just go away.”

Her expression had been solid. Todd almost wanted to say, _yeah, I know, we all went through shit together,_ but he knows that’s stupid and selfish and not the point, and he’s getting better at not being an asshole. He knows what she means. No matter what, Dirk is not just _fine_. And maybe now, more than ever, Todd will find that out.

“I’ll look after him,” Todd promises, meaning every word, and then she goes.

Amanda isn’t so kind. Not that he deserves kindness- and from her, least of all.

“You’re a selfish, lying asshole.”

He can’t respond when she starts, the punch hitting low and fast. Part of his masochistic soul accepts it, welcoming the inevitable fallout as much as he wants to mend things.

“You only ever thought about yourself and you lied to me. For years,” Amanda continues, eyes stony. “And I don’t trust you to do this- or anything, really- but I’m telling you because I care about him and I won’t be here. _Take care of Dirk_.”

“He’s my friend-,” Todd starts, trying to get the point across, because _god damn it he means it_ , now more than ever, but Amanda cuts him off.

“And I was your sister. That doesn’t mean shit to me,” she says, mouth set. “Say what you want; I don’t care. All _I’m_ saying is that if he’s hurting and you just stand by, then we’re more than done. I will _beat you_.”

And so it goes, in no uncertain terms. Amanda leaves with the Rowdies and Todd watches her go, feeling for all the world like somehow, he got left out of the part where everyone decided to band up against him. _I am his friend_ , he tells himself, as if someone else will hear his indignant claim and back him up. _What part of looking for him for three months was not enough to convince people of that?_

* * *

His tolerance is great, at the beginning. The first night, they eat crappy takeout because they’re both exhausted and then Todd reaches for the TV remote before realizing it’s smashed. There is no TV. Dirk looks…oddly uncomfortable, on one end of the couch.

“Don’t you want to shower?” Todd asks, too tired to care about the technically intimate question.

“What? No. I mean yes. That- maybe…,” Dirk trails off, the initial burst of energy in his response dwindling like a dying battery.

A litany of _take care of him-s_ float through Todd’s mind, varied in wording and force. Todd surveys the living room, contemplating. The sofa is a no-go, just like most of the place. Anyway, it’s not like they haven’t slept in close quarters before- and Todd has honestly shared beds with people he’s hated, in the band.

“If you’re too tired, you can stay here,” Todd says, bowling through it as if it’s fact and not an offer. It only makes him marginally less embarrassed. _Why is it so hard for me to just be a good fucking friend?_ “Not like this place is clean, anyway.”

_Unnecessary,_ he tells himself, the voice in his mind screaming, _UNNECESSARY_. It’s almost too late, Dirk’s expression showing the tiniest bit of hesitation as he surveys the room. The sparkle in his eyes, before almost-perpetual, flickers. It’s something Todd has come to hate, especially when it’s his fault.

“Well-,”

“Come on. I’m tired,” Todd sighs, already toeing his shoes off as he walks to the bedroom. What is it people say? _The best thing you can do for a person is act like everything is normal and okay._ He doesn’t believe in it, but maybe Dirk does and maybe Todd trying will be enough on its own.

“I’ll help with renovations. We can start tomorrow,” Dirk chimes brightly, “put things in order and refurnish. I suppose, considering it _was_ technically work-related, I could be convinced to include it in agency expenses if we-,”

“Dirk.”

The man stops, blessedly, although Todd suspects it’s because he’s waiting to be told _no_ or _shut up_ or _on second thought, leave_. He really doesn’t like those thoughts, so he takes care to unravel the tension in his body, forcing himself to soften. The three second of silence are more than he’s ever afforded anyone before.

“Sleep. Now. We can worry about it in the morning. Or afternoon…,” Todd adds, already yawning as he yanks his shirt off to pull a marginally-cleaner one over his head (they have, again, been mostly-undressed around each other before).

Dirk makes a small noise- kind of a squeak and an _oh_ \- but Todd doesn’t care enough to address it. He purposefully takes his time changing, hearing the frantic shuffle of clothes behind him and a telltale bounce when Dirk probably throws himself onto the bed nervously. Todd isn’t in the mood for an awkward dance around the mattress. He climbs into bed without a second thought after changing, twisting the lamp off, sighing as the blessed pillow envelops his head.

“…Todd?”

“…yes, Dirk?”

“Thank you.”

He feels kind of like a dick now. Well, a lot like one. Dirk’s quiet voice is nothing like the boisterous cries Todd is used to. It’s also far more vulnerable than he likes (and he’s not about to consider what it means that he hates Dirk being in any way helpless; he’s been putting that off since the end of the Time Machine Case).

“Yeah. Go to sleep, Dirk.”

* * *

He regrets- well, maybe not regrets but very much reconsiders- his choice in the morning. The first day, Dirk practically brings the songbirds in to help clean. He’s all chattering and smiles and high energy, flushed with exertion as he goes about cleaning.

“You probably shouldn’t wear a leather jacket when you clean.”

“I don’t know _what_ you mean- this is a _lucky_ jacket, Todd-,”

“Was the blue one lucky?”

Dirk shoots him a withering look but there’s no pain there, so at least Todd doesn’t feel too bad about bringing up the harpoon incident. He still feels bad, though, and resolves to backtrack as much as possible.

“Just- I don’t want you crying when you destroy another one.”

“It wasn’t _destroyed_ , it has _character_ now,” Dirk exclaims, nearly dropping the toaster as he animatedly moves his arms. Todd shoots him a look and Dirk contritely pulls the object up to his chest as if it’s a kitten shark, voice lowering a half decibel. It’s not much. “It does.”

“Sure.”

They stop cleaning for an early dinner (which is takeout again, considering the state of the kitchen) and Todd makes sure to order Chinese because he knows Dirk likes speculating and making up stories about the fortune cookies. Maybe he has to sit (or clean) through two hours’ worth of a convoluted fairytale centered around _Your life will be richer reconnecting_ , which Todd points out is too vague before Dirk proceeds to prove his point while arguing it.

If Dirk is too tired to go home that night, Todd doesn’t say anything, because he couldn’t have done the work alone, right?

* * *

By the third day, Todd is wary.

He suspects that something could be wrong- after all, Dirk is just as sunny and quirky as when they first met and _no one_ should be that way after this much bullshit. Not even if he and Todd had a handful of heart-to-hearts during the last case (and honestly, they were pretty intimate and Todd doesn’t like thinking about them too hard because he gets uncomfortable after the fact). In any case, Todd doesn’t want to push it so soon but Dirk has no clothes and Todd just brought new sheets. The third morning, Todd tries to maneuver an excuse that won’t seem like a rejection.

It’s fucking impossible.

He settles on slipping in an invitation with his request, since there’s no other way than openly saying ‘do you want to stay with me for a while’ (which he won’t say, because maybe nothing is wrong and saying that would be fucking terrible and he’ll screw it up again).

“Dirk- do you have a screwdriver in your apartment?”

“I thought _you_ had one,” Dirk muses, shuffling through instructions for how to set up a bookcase, which Todd bought just because he figured he could use the bottom shelf as shoe storage. And it was cheap. And an agency expense. “Didn’t we use it for-,”

“I don’t think it’s the right size. Do you?”

“…perhaps,” Dirk says, sounding more like he’s asking. “I mean, if I needed one-,”

“The universe would give you one? Look- why don’t you go check? You can get anything else you need, while you’re there.”

He fully expects a quick response or even just the sound of Dirk leaving (which probably says more about his self-centeredness and elevated sense of being smooth) but instead, he hears the clattering of screws and plastic. Todd immediately turns from the kitchen, where he’s rearranging chipped plates and bent cutlery, to see what’s happened. Dirk is floundering. The instructions are on the floor, the tiny plastic bag of parts still taped to the bottom. A mouth opens and closes and Todd _really_ wishes it didn’t have to be this way.

“Are…are you…?”

“Dirk. Screwdriver?” He asks patiently, slowly, hoping he’s communicating what he needs to (he’ll say more, of course, but he really hopes he doesn’t have to).

Dirk looks at him for a moment, hair reddish in the daylight pouring through the windows, and Todd realizes for the first time he kind of missed the color. It had seemed so much…darker, during their last case. As if some of the color had sapped from Dirk while he was with Blackwing.

And he really, _really_ doesn’t want to think about that. He suspects Dirk doesn’t want to, either.

“Be right back,” Dirk says, still a little squeaky-voiced, and then the door shuts and Todd almost bends over the counter in relief, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. ‘

It takes twenty minutes for Dirk to get back, hair still half-wet, a large bag in hand that he bumps several times on his way in (like the true ninja he is). Todd gives him the benefit of space for a moment, letting Dirk shove the suitcase into a corner before he waits for an answer.

“Well?”

“Well…what?” Dirk’s expression is guarded, or as guarded as it can possibly get (because Dirk wears his heart on his face and that’s probably the most difficult thing for Todd to deal with).

“The screwdriver?”

“Oh,” Dirk says, dragging out the vowel as if it’s done something terrible to them, “I…think the universe is trying to tell me yours will work.”

“Uh-huh.”

If he doesn’t roll his eyes at the comment like he usually does, Todd chalks it up to the fact that they’re dry from staring at instructions too long.

* * *

It shouldn’t be a surprise that Dirk fits himself so easily into Todd’s life. For one, the man is ridiculously eager to please, and for another, Todd has so many spaces in his life it might as well be swiss cheese.

They somehow get into a routine, showers and bedtime routines working in tandem as they spend most of their days doing _actual work_. Farah had emailed Todd after she’d made it to Lydia, requesting that the two of them start on documenting their cases and at least trying to ‘set up a database’. Todd manages to get Dirk into a chair with a computer, which works for all of fifteen minutes before the detective’s fidgeting threatens to drive him crazy. Eventually, Todd shoves a phone into Dirk’s hand, pressing audio record and letting the man pace and talk through things while Todd shoves earbuds in and tries to come up with a folder system.

He maybe should have anticipated that literally dragging up old memories was going to be hard but he’s been avoiding that (and lots of things, honestly) so it’s probably karma that makes things worse. Whatever the universe does for Dirk, it seems to like kicking Todd in the ass quite a bit. Which, Todd is beginning to admit, is partially his fault (okay, mostly).

He notices the change in Dirk’s attitude because the shitty apartment floor isn’t shifting under his feet. Todd looks up from his computer, where he’s deciding whether he wants to nest six folders or not, and sees Dirk staring out the window from the far wall, eyes hard and glazed over, mouth pressed into a thin line. _Shit._

“Dirk?”

It scares him that it takes Dirk almost a full minute to come back to himself, the black fog sucked away like untidy dust into a vacuum. Wherever the gloom came from (and it’s probably Blackwing or the goddamn universe), Dirk shoves it away with a deftness that is more disturbing than anything else.

“Yes?” The cocked head and pleasant smile are par for the course but Todd knows better, now.

“I want to get lunch from the food trucks at the park.”

That’s a total lie. Todd hates socialization, mostly because he was such an asshole before and now, he’s just nervous and self-loathing. He’d rather stay inside, hopefully away from the machinations of the universe (although he knows better than ever that his home is not safe; nothing is safe).

He says it because Dirk is wearing his yellow jacket and it’s a bright, spring day. The park is probably lush and vibrant and _exactly_ what Dirk would love. It’s the opposite of Blackwing, which, by all accounts, is a prison in nicer terms. And Todd feels a sinking guilt when he realizes that the apartment, despite his best intentions, might be starting to seem a lot like a prison.

“Oh! _Really_? That sounds fantastic,” Dirk says excitedly, eyes widened exaggeratedly (although by now, Todd suspects it’s not exaggeration at all).

He’s not sure what to feel about being right. Dirk blooms with the roses, face flushed and limbs animated as he awkwardly run-walks down the leaf-strewn path in the park. People thankfully don’t take too much notice of him, despite his nonstop chatter and energetic bounce. It takes a good ten minutes for Todd to get Dirk to settle on what he wants to eat (which ends up being something from all five of the food trucks). They blessedly find an empty table that isn’t being shed on by trees, spreading their fare out in the warm sun.

When Dirk goes to throw away his trash, someone’s unleashed dog tugs at his pant leg with careful teeth, clearly assuming the man has food in his hand.

“Wait- _no,_ I don’t have anything and you can’t eat it anyway, you’re a _dog_ ,” Dirk says, trying to extricate himself awkwardly while dragging his occupied leg along toward the trash can. “Unless- you’re not a _person,_ are you? Todd! What if-,”

Dirk never finishes, the dog’s weight too much and his lanky frame too unstable to stay upright. He tumbles onto the grass helplessly, napkins and checkered food trays flying, and the dog barks excitedly before chasing the trash around.

There’s laughter filling up the space between the trees. It bursts suddenly, reaching for the sky, and it takes Todd a second to realize _he’s_ the one that’s laughing. He almost stops right then (he’s _trying_ to be a good friend, and a Good Friend doesn’t laugh when their friend falls down). He almost does but then he doesn’t, too out of breath to consider it. He tries to cover his face with one hand, thinking maybe not looking will help, but he still sees Dirk sprawled on the ground behind his eyelids.

When he finally gets himself under control and opens his eyes, he sees Dirk still on the ground, mouth open soundlessly as he stares.

“Come on, litterbug. Pick up your mess,” Todd says, nudging the man’s leg with one foot as if it’s no big deal (and he tells himself that so many times he almost believes it).

If Dirk wears an oddly pleased smile for the rest of the day, Todd doesn’t comment. Dirk deserves it and Todd promised.

* * *

He is wearing down. Paradoxically, frustratingly, frighteningly. His tolerance is working backward, prolonged exposure somehow making his immunity wear away like paint off the ends of chopsticks in his kitchen drawer.

Well, _their_ kitchen drawer.

It’s almost daily, now. Todd looks for excuses to do small things, in or out of the house, and Dirk does something silly (endearing, a voice tells him, but he tells it that it’s not a fucking English professor, so shut up). It always ends up with Todd laughing, or at least smiling, and that only encourages Dirk. All the annoying things Dirk does don’t miraculously go away and some days, Todd is honestly still pissed off by them. It’s just that he’s learning how to cope now, how to recognize that they’re not just eccentricities and quirks and actually just products of Blackwing and never having had a real friend.

So maybe they’re more alike than Todd wanted to admit.

Of course, questions still linger in the back of his mind and it’s only been a month. Todd sets his standards at three months now; he thinks that’s how much time the universe decides to dedicate to each cycle, kind of. He recognizes that they should talk about things- like why Dirk doesn’t want to go home and what happened at Blackwing and where Todd stands with this whole escapade. He knows all these things but he puts them off, ignoring it until (of fucking course) the universe decides to make the choice for him.

It starts off with an inconsequential conversation and a not-really argument.

“…don’t know _how_ you can live without a proper water filter,” Dirk is saying, in the middle of some long-winded explanation, and Todd is already aggravated because of hunger and the way his internet speed has suddenly plummeted.

“Yeah, well, _you_ don’t have to live with it.”

The sudden stop it puts to Dirk’s words is painful. Todd can feel the atmosphere shift, the casual banter they usually share dissipating like so much water from a hot stovetop.

“Is my presence here _bothering_ you?” Dirk asks, rounding on his heel, his words and posture tight. His tone is familiar. Todd should know better. He tells himself to be calm.

“No, I didn’t say that-,”

“You kind of did,” Dirk says, fingers curling over the edges of his jacket, “If I’m such a nuisance-,”

“Dirk, would you stop?”

“No. I’m not going to stay if I’m not wanted!”

“What are you talking about? Dirk-,” Todd can hear his voice rising, almost a yell, and knows they’ve gone too far. _He’s_ gone too far. He should know better than to key up in response to self-defense. And that’s all it is, this pointless argument. Self-defense and an old wound that Dirk has that they’ve both been ignoring (that _Todd_ has been ignoring).

“No, Todd, it’s _fine_. I have somewhere to go.”

Dirk leaves in a few steps, the door shutting smartly behind him, and Todd is left staring at the empty space that used to be filled by overexuberant arms and a bright smile.

_Of fucking course,_ he tells himself. Of course he would fuck it up the moment it happened. Of course he’d ignore the fact that Dirk is clearly holding something back- some pain he needs to talk about. Whatever he thinks about not being wanted or being in the way, all he needs is reassurance. All he needed was for Todd to say _I want you here_ , or even _you can stay_.

But all Todd has ever done since they first met is complain about how much Dirk has ruined his life and how much he doesn’t want him around. It doesn’t matter how much Todd wants to be a good friend now, because he hasn’t ever _said_ it, not since they’ve come back.

“Good job. You fucked things up, again,” Todd mutters at the air, slamming his laptop shut.

* * *

Dirk does not go back.

He stays away that night, sitting with his legs pulled up to his chest in the bathtub, thinking.

Perhaps his outburst was hasty. Still, how is he to know when he’s being a burden? On cases, it was always so simple- Todd would say something, good or bad, Dirk would respond, and they would hash things out. The quick pace had always kept Dirk on his toes. Even during their last case, when Dirk had confided his fear of hurting the people around him, Todd has said _I am your friend_. He’d said it so many times. He’d gone after Dirk, for three months and then in the house and again and again after that. _So why is it still not enough?_

He knows why. He knows it’s a tangled mess- his dreams of rescue in captivity, his guilt for wanting rescue, his desire to finally be together with people he cares about and who care about him back. All the messy threads, pulling at wrists and ankles and his throat. He wants so much to be a part of Todd’s life but he hates what it might mean. That maybe wanting to be around is exactly what will get Todd killed.

He stays in his bathtub and maybe he doesn’t sleep but that’s not because of nightmares (and certainly not because his bed doesn’t smell like Todd’s). It’s because water is safe, and if the universe were to tear him away, it would be just right now.

* * *

Todd hates to think about what Dirk is going through. Night comes and there’s still no sign of the detective. Todd wants to go after him but he doesn’t, thinking space is probably needed. They both need to decide whether they’re finally ready to talk. To stop pretending everything can be okay and they don’t have to talk about it.

Todd doesn’t sleep; he rearranges folders like it’s a game and checks the case files for spelling errors manually, as if it’ll do any good. The darkness outside the apartment is all-encompassing and Todd wonders if that’s how Dirk felt, in a tiny room in Blackwing. If it was like floating on a vast, black, ocean in a too-small lifeboat. Morning intrudes before long, then, and Todd leaves his computer screen with dry eyes.

Very dry eyes.

He thinks of taking a nap or maybe looking for eye drops he knows he doen’t have and then the tightness in his chest constricts, the feeling like the electric shock in the underground room with the rhino. _Shit._

He falls to the floor screaming, eyes on fire and the pain spiraling around his head. It’s a million times worse than being punched in the eye and his vision is blurry, the world around him clouding. _No, no, no,_ his mind cries, terror gripping him. _I want to see. I have to see-_

The door slams open but the sound barely registers. Todd thinks he hears his name but all he can do is watch the world fade, thinking he’ll never get to see Amanda again or Farah or-

“Todd!’

Dirk’s voice cuts through everything. There’s a hand at his mouth, pushing, and Todd’s instinct is to fight it. Bite. He nearly does before he feels a dull flicker of thought- _medicine_ \- and he opens his mouth. He swallows, the pills dry and heavy in his throat, and he lays curled on the floor in agony for what seems like centuries but is probably only three minutes.

He is breathing heavily when he when he comes back to himself, vision clearing, and the relief that brings is untold. The first thing he sees is blue- dirty, rumpled blue leather and the creases of Dirk’s shirt.

“Did it work? Do I call an ambulance? I should have called an ambulance,” Dirk is saying, voice verging on hysterical, and Todd feels his heart crack a little (and something else, too, but he’s not about to think of it when he’s just coming off an attack).

“I’m fine,” Todd tries, voice hoarse from screaming, and Dirk lets out a relieved and worried sigh.

“Todd. That- was that- I mean, I know it was. What I mean is, do you need something? I mean- clearly, you’re not all right, of course you wouldn’t be, but-,”

“Dirk.” Todd tries to be firmer this time. He waits and sees Dirk bite his tongue (probably physically) and rock back on his heels, waiting. Worried. “Thank you.”

There’s a mixture of confusion and pain and anguish on Dirk’s face. Todd doesn’t even know where to begin untangling it. He waits for the inevitable flood of words and is surprised when instead, he gets a quiet phrase.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“…so…you’re telling me…,” Todd starts, purposefully dragging it out, and Dirk looks worried and resigned to whatever beratement he’s about to hear. “That was a _ghost_ that gave me my pills? I think we have another case.”

It takes a second for Dirk to catch up, confusion and realization and disbelief throwing an absolute party on his face. Todd wants to laugh.

“Todd. Ghosts don’t exist. You know that.”

He does laugh then, slumping back onto the floor. His head is resting by Dirk’s thigh, a hand propping the detective up next to Todd’s ear. It’s close. And maybe there’s only so much he can admit at once, because Todd settles for tilting his head to feel the fingertips on the side of his cheek, the tiniest contact grounding them both.

“Too bad. I guess we’ll have to settle for working on the website today, huh?”

Dirk pauses, consternation and relief crossing his features before he nods vigorously.

“I can’t say that I’ll be much help- I’m not that good with computers- but I can certainly offer cosmetic advice. Oh! What _if_ we designed each case with a color- you know, like-,”

“Like your jackets?”

“I was _going_ to say like Sherlock Holmes,” Dirk says cheekily, “even though that wasn’t really a theme in the stories…”

Dirk continues spouting ideas even after Todd rolls to his feet, making his way to the kitchen to start a late brunch for the both of him. He doesn’t say anything about Todd’s clothes, which are the same ones he’d left in yesterday, and Dirk doesn’t say anything about Todd wearing the same clothes, either. Their mutual pledge to obliviousness is helpful, for the moment being, but Todd resolves to talk about the issue later that evening.

For now, though, he’s content to make bacon pancakes as Dirk watches in fascination.

“I’m sure it’s _terrible_ for your health, but _boy_ , do they smell good!”

* * *

It’s late at night before Todd decides to bring anything up. Dirk’s suitcase is still in the corner of the room, propped on its side for easy access. His jackets, of course, are hung neatly in the hall closet (and Todd _hadn’t_ purposely encouraged that by putting Dirk’s green jacket in there the first night they got home).

He made dinner tonight. Despite being bad at life and relationships, Todd is actually not half bad at cooking. He’s had to work to make canned food taste passable; he considers himself an expert in fridge-scraping. It helps, too, that his fridge is now stocked with ‘company-funded food, of course, what kind of employer would let their employees starve, Todd’. He makes his favorite quick meal- pasta with chicken- and before long, he’s sitting at the table with Dirk.

Dirk makes the most of the meal by filling his mouth as often as he fills the air with chatter about making an app (which will never happen, not only because no one knows how but also because Todd doesn’t like the idea of literally being tracked through it). It’s somewhere between discussions of colors- ‘there’s so many, Todd, I know you know this but there are _so many_ ’- and possible names that Todd realizes something.

He has fewer holes than before.

He feels a little less like a paper man shot at for target practice, a little less like the cliché swiss cheese, a little less like an overused sponge. Even without Amanda, who he desperately wishes he could reach again, he’s not marked by his gaps anymore.

Dirk is there.

Now, when he reaches across the table for a napkin, Dirk pushes the stupid chicken holder (his choice) closer and continues chattering. Now, the fridge has a water filter and he no longer tastes something bitter after every sip. Now, especially after having a fight, Todd realizes just how much he’s looked forward to _Dirk_. To what the man will say or do or what he’ll come up with as a plan for the day.

He cares. He cares that Dirk is around, safe, happy, and _in his life_. Todd cares and sure, it hurts (the fight was enough to guarantee he felt that), but it also feels good. It feels amazing. Like he has someone just on his side, a little, even when Dirk technically isn’t on his side.

“Hey- Dirk?” Todd’s standing over the sink, water hot in the sink, plates stacked by his arm, and Dirk is leaning against a counter.

“Yes?”

_What do I even say?_ His hesitation seems clear and Dirk shifts a little, the rosiness in his countenance receding just a little. The words are heavy on Todd’s tongue, almost reluctant to pour forth. _Isn’t it funny how life-or-death situations make us so much more willing to just fucking say what we want? Need?_ He turns from the sink, deciding to leave the comfort of pretending he’s concentrating on the dishes, and faces Dirk.

“I’m not sure what, exactly, happened- I mean, I know it was shitty to even joke that I didn’t want you around, because I do- but I don’t know what happened yesterday. And I…haven’t wanted to push it, because I know it must have been horrible and shitty and you don’t usually like talking about Blackwing, but I need you to know that you _can_ talk to me. If you ever want to.”

Dirk stays where he is, fingers curled over the edge of the counter, and Todd waits. He gives it a minute, knowing nothing will probably happen, and then starts to turn back to the sink. It isn’t until he picks up a cup that he hears Dirk start to talk.

“It _was_ terrible. I hated it. And I kept telling them- _my friends are coming_. I used that, for a while- I knew they couldn’t have caught you and I felt some tiny bit of hope, knowing you and Farah were out there somewhere. But…somewhere along the line, I started telling myself that you weren’t coming. That-,”

“Dirk, of course we were looking for you,” Todd says, interrupting despite himself. “I need you to know- we were looking for you since the first day, since-,”

“I know, Todd- I know. But…that’s just it,” Dirk says, the words a little strangled, and it hurts Todd to hear them. “I kept thinking, _good_. That it was a chance for you to go back to living normally, and Farah, too- that you should both just live your lives-,”

“That’s not true. We had to find-,”

“I know you were looking for Amanda,” Dirk barrels on, the lines on his forehead and shine in his eyes telltale signs that he’s spilling everything out. “She’s your _sister_. And I dragged her into this by extension, the only thing you really cared about, and I understand that you wanted to find her. You don’t have to keep telling me it was _me_ you were so desperate to find-,”

“Dirk,” Todd says firmly, cutting him off. He waits, watching Dirk trying to look at him without breaking eye contact. As if it’s somehow painful to face Todd. “Yeah, Amanda was the only thing I cared about- but I fucked up. And…it’s just not true anymore.”

“Todd, you may be fighting, but she’ll come around,” Dirk says, shaking his head as if this conversation is going just the way he thought it would.

_Well, fuck the universe and whatever it’s telling him,_ Todd thinks. _Fuck plans_.

“Amanda isn’t the only thing I care about. I care about _you_. I cared when you went missing,” Todd rails on, the steam suddenly bursting from his chest, “And I cared that you weren’t there. I kept thinking _what would Dirk say about this_ and _what would Dirk think about that_ and it’s not because I was trying to be like you, it was because I missed you!”

_Oh, shit, that felt good to get off my chest._

Well, it felt good, but now he’s acutely aware of how vulnerable he’s just made himself. His immediate response is to negate it- throw in some insults or choice pieces about Dirk being a nuisance that Todd can’t get rid of no matter what- but he doesn’t. He bites his tongue and holds it back, reminding himself that what he needs right now (and what Dirk needs) is not his qualifiers and jibes. They need honesty. Truth.

“…Todd.” The one word, his name, is quiet. Somehow, though, it seems to hold everything in it. As much as Todd needed the rant, maybe Dirk just needs that one name. The realization that comes with it. Todd can see Dirk trying to blink away tears.

“I know you’re scared,” Todd says, slower and less explosive, “and I know you’re not used to this. To having people stick around. But you’re _my friend_ and _I want you around_. So you’re gonna be stuck with my sad, fucked-up ass, until such time that you decide to get another friend. Okay?”

“I don’t need another friend,” Dirk laughs, the sound broken in half.

“Well, thank God. I’d be broke without you,” Todd grins, a little silly and a lot better.

This time, Dirk laughs, and Todd has to admit, it’s the best thing he’s heard in a long time.


	2. Felis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are another cat and another case, but it's not as big. Well, the cat is bigger, the case is smaller. Either way, hugging is a thing and while Todd enjoys romping around with Dirk, he wants to help his friend, too.  
> Now, if only the jokes about them being a couple would stop.

Without much to do, Dirk has taken to dragging Todd out to ‘experience the universe- you know, without being shot at’. Todd had refrained from pointing out that maybe going out is just what will cause their situation to change because Dirk had looked over the moon when Todd had mentioned the ice cream museum downtown.

This is how they end up with the first of what Todd can only describe as ‘cat cases’. Which is to say, their first case is literally to find a lost cat. Which may be a stuffed leopard, but it’s the same difference. The young woman asking for their help approaches them in the ice cream museum, apparently overhearing Dirk going on about how ‘this is _much_ nicer than being on a death-defying case, Todd- oh _look_ , we can get samples’.

“Excuse me. Are you…detectives?” She asks curiously, head tilted. The girl was young- probably Amanda’s age- and wearing a giant band sweatshirt, the hood bunched at the nape of her neck. Her hair was somewhere between shaved and short, as if she’d recently taken clippers to it.

“Yes! I am, in fact, Dirk Gently- oh, wait-!” Dirk was so excited he forgot his rehearsed lines (which Todd had suffered through for three weeks beforehand). He did, however, manage to pull out a card from his jacket without dropping or otherwise damaging it.

“Huh. I’m looking for something,” the girl says, combing a hand reflexively through her hair as if expecting to find more. “I mean…it’s not much, but…”

“Nothing is too small!” Dirk exclaims happily, practically beaming from ear to ear, and Todd finally interjects.

“Okay- let’s…not get crazy. Why don’t you tell us what you need?” he directed the question at the girl. Belatedly, he’d also wondered _and what’s your name?_

“My uncle recently passed away,” the girl starts, seeming not to notice Dirk’s resultant murmur, “and he left behind a few things. Most of it is property and money, of course, but there are a few personal effects in his house that he wanted to give to certain people.”

“And one of those objects is missing?” Dirk asks, his thinking face already settling.

“Yes. I…,” she pauses then, clearing her throat, and Todd notices she’s blushing. “I’ve always had a lot of stuffed animals. When I was younger, my mom threw some out when I wasn’t at home. I think my uncle may have kept one for me- he said, in his will, that he left a stuffed leopard. But…we can’t find it.”

“A…stuffed leopard?” _Okay, that’s kind of…normal?_ Todd wonders what the catch is.

“Will we be allowed to search the house- and, possibly, read the will?” Dirk asks. Todd can almost see the gears turning in his head.

“Yeah,” the girl breathes, as if some weight has been lifted from her shoulders. “I’ll call and let you know what day and time, but it should be this week. Everyone’s going crazy to finish.”

“Perfect,” Dirk beams, already moving sideways towards the ice cream, and Todd rolls his eyes. Before they go, though, the detective actually asks the right question. “Oh- what’s your name?”

“Iris,” the girl says, smiling crookedly, “Iris Morrow.”

* * *

Dirk and Todd end up at Iris’ uncle’s house two days later. It’s a pleasant but old building at the edges of the city, on cement risers and faded yellowish-brown. Todd almost smiles at the circuitous feeling- first the Spring mansion, now this. A humbler abode, but still a will and a girl and a cat.

Kind of.

They approach the house, an old, black car parked out front, and Todd glances at Dirk. He feels a reluctant smile twisting his lips.

“First sign of harpoons, and we split.”

“Agreed,” Dirk says brusquely, but he’s also smiling, albeit in a more goofy and excited way. He’s not going to run from anything, much less harpoons. Todd has resigned himself to that.

Iris lets them inside, passing Dirk a copy of the will (which Todd is pretty sure isn’t entire legal or right, but who is he to say). The house is just as cozy on the inside, with faded floral couches that are one color removed from vomit and carpets worn thin by age. There are colorful ceramic decorations on the wall and a multitude of angels on a bookcase that holds no books.

“There is no attic, or basement,” Iris starts, glancing around the living room, “so this shouldn’t be so difficult. And there are barely any rooms- I mean, I grew up coming here; it’s not like it’s a foreign place to me, or anyone looking. But…I don’t know. Maybe you’ll figure it out. Or maybe he was just going crazy and it’s not even here.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Dirk assures her, uncharacteristically unaffected by the clue in his hand, “Don’t worry! We’ve had a _fantastic_ success rate.”

Todd shoots him a look but Iris smiles a little, the first bit of warmth entering her pale face. She shrugs, twirling a tiny flashlight in her hand.

“I’ll keep looking, then. Call if you need me.”

“Should we read all of it?” Todd asks uneasily, looking at the novel-like stack in Dirk’s hands. “We don’t have to read all of it, right?”

Dirk shrugs, flipping to the orange-tabbed page, and reads from the highlighted line.

“…to my niece, Iris Ever Morrow- wow, Todd, that name-,”

“Dirk.” (It is a weird name, though, and Todd distinctly hopes that doesn’t indicate supernatural or scientific shenanigans).

“Right. ‘I leave to my niece, Iris Ever Morrow, the following: my vintage record player, so that she may one day hear herself on record,’- Todd, do you think she’s in a band like you were? _What if_ -,”

“Dirk. Read the will,” Todd sighs, shaking his head as he starts to look around the room, still listening.

“O _kay_. The record player, ‘the bank account already named to her; the dysfunctional typewriter in my garage; the books I have collected which found only ungrateful eyes and the large cat that has been lost for seventeen years. Hm. Large cat…”

“There aren’t any clues as to where he put it?” Todd is already getting to his knees, peering under the sofas and trying not to sneeze.

“Well, maybe there’s a pattern- the typewriter was in the garage. Where was the record player? The bank account…no, that won’t really fit- unless we look at a map! Maybe it’s a symbol or something!”

Todd’s instinct is to say _you’re crazy_ , but after his last escapades with Dirk…well.

“Fine. You look for a map, I’ll get Iris and ask her about the locations.”

It’s worth a shot, he thinks, which is what he tells Iris when he finds her in a back bedroom, staring at the pillows on the bed. She nods, half-smiling as if she knows something secret. It’s a little unnerving.

“You seem like good friends,” she says as they make their way to the dining room table, which is shoved next to the kitchen entrance. “Have you been together long?”

If he was drinking something, he’d spit it out. Instead he splutters, feeling hot and uncomfortable and frustratingly out of words. Iris seems to regard him with mild surprise at his reaction.

“I’m not- we’re not- I mean-,”

“…have you known each other for a long time?” she asks again, slower, but this time with a glint in her eye and a tremble to her smile. _God damn it._ It’s not like he didn’t get enough of this with Tina; now, he has to get it from a stranger.

“Kind of? I…almost a year, I think, but it seems like ages, now.”

“That’s nice,” she says, the smile still there when the find Dirk wrestling with a giant map on the table.

“So, this _might_ be a bit large,” Dirk starts, huffing with exertion as if he’s just finished beating the map into submission.

“Wait- did he _actually_ have a map of this side of the city? Like…close to scale and-,”

“Old people love maps,” Iris murmurs, as if it’s a basic fact and not something fantastic. Dirk looks at Todd as if to say, _see?_

Yeah. It feels a lot like a case.

“Okay- where was the record player?” Todd asks, giving up on trying to make sense of anything.

“The house. By the TV, actually.” Dirk makes a tiny mark at her words, waiting. “The typewriter was in the garage. The books were at the rental property, which is- here.”

They stare at the marks so far. There isn’t anything outstanding about them. Dirk frowns, opening his mouth and closing it several times as he stares with wrinkled forehead at the marks.

“You mentioned a rental property,” Todd says, frowning, “Could it be there?”

“No. It was completely gutted before they started renting it out. There was nothing left at the house, other than books he kept in a small room. It was supposed to be like an office- tenants were allowed to use it, but not change it.”

They stare at the map for another minute, Dirk twisting it every so often to get a different perspective. It doesn’t help (or at least Todd assumes it doesn’t, because there is no gasping revelation).

“Maybe we need to add more?” Iris supplies, tilting her head.

“Let’s,” Dirk says, excitement returning, and he finds a different-colored pen.

By the time they’re done, the map is dotted with multicolored marks. They are concentrated heavily- that much is clear- and some are layered over one another.

“It looks like…a lump,” Todd says slowly, disappointed. There’s no shape to it at all. Even trying to connect like colors, there doesn’t seem to be a message.

“It’s like trying to find a grain of sugar in a saltshaker,” Iris sighs, “there are just so many-,”

“So many,” Dirk repeats slowly, eyes glazed, and Todd straightens. _This is it? Is it?_ He glances at Iris, who seems oblivious to the likely earth-shattering revelations Dirk is having.

“What? What is it?” Todd asks, eager.

“Stars! They’re stars!” Dirk exclaims, practically jumping up and down, “Oh, of _course_ \- that’s why there are so many! And the- with the- _see_!” He’s waving his hands at the paper, turning in place as if he’s simultaneously looking for something and found it.

“It doesn’t look like a constellation,” Iris muses, looking down at the mess, “Are we supposed to go through all the possible combinations to figure it out? There are-,”

“Numerous ones, I know,” Dirk says, shaking his head, “but we need _one_. What was your uncle’s name?”

“…Everard.”

“Oh, you were named after him?”

“Dirk,” Todd says.

“Right. Okay…that’s…not really helpful, since it’s not really a star name. Or at least not one I can remember. It has to be a constellation that’s important. It should _mean_ something, even if you never directly talked about it.”

“Is there a cat constellation? I mean, it’s a cat,” Iris points out.

“He did say ‘large cat’,” Todd remembers, feeling the momentum build, “Not _stuffed leopard_. It has to be a cat constellation!”

“There is no cat constellation,” Dirk says, waving a hand, “There are around forty-three animals and insects in the sky, not including two centaurs, because of course-,’

“What about a lion? Leo, right?”

“That’s not a leopard. I mean…maybe-,”

“It’s a snow leopard, too,” Iris adds, frowning, “so I doubt there’s anything that specific.”

They stare at the table, Todd already considering how long it would take to print out constellations and overlay them, and then Iris makes a small, startled noise.

“…no,” she murmurs, eyebrows drawn together. Her entire body seems to say, _it can’t be_.

“What?” Dirk asks, excited. “What is it?”

“I…have a telescope my father gave me. My uncle would stargaze with us when I was a kid and I liked doing it in my backyard. We never really had any special constellations, but it’s something we did together. Maybe there’s a hint on his? It’s in the backyard.”

Dirk fast-walks to the backyard, leading the way. The telescope is sort of dusty, tiny leaf bits stuck to the top. Dirk immediately tries looking through it, squinting and bending down to try and look.

“You can’t-,” Todd tries to explain, shaking his head (because the cap is still on the other end and they’re supposed to look like semi-professionals, okay).

But Dirk gasps because of course he does and Todd speeds up to meet him, resisting the urge to shove the detective aside to look through the telescope as well.

“What?” Todd asks, hesitating, a hand inching towards the lens cap. “Should I-,”

“It’s a note!” Dirk laughs, excited fists bouncing at his sides as if they can propel him into the stars that have been frustrating them.

“What does it say?”

“ _I don’t know,_ Todd, you need to take it out- all I can see is blurry black and blue and maybe the word ‘alimony’, although that doesn’t seem right-,”

“All right, all right,” Todd stops him, unscrewing the cap. The paper inside is a scrap from a notebook, ragged at the edges and written on with black ink.

“What does it say?” Dirk asks, bouncing with energy.

“‘You cannot lose what is always there’,” Todd reads. _What?_ Iris doesn’t look like it’s earth-shattering news. In fact, she seems more disheartened. That is, until Dirk practically jumps into the tree next to him.

“Oh! We need to- he must have- Iris, we need to go to your house!”

“My-,” before she can finish, Dirk is already making his way to her car, bouncing with anticipation.

“Yes! It’s there! It has to be there!”

And, despite their utter confusion, both Todd and Iris follow him. Iris glances at Todd as if he’s some sort of interpreter (which, at this point, is fair). All he can do is shrug, though, because he’s not privy to whatever universal epiphany Dirk has had. Yet.

“Why is it at her house?”

“ _Because_ , it was always there! Because they spent time stargazing and he left a message in the telescope, which she also has-,”

“Yeah, but my parents have one,” Iris interrupts, frowning, “and maybe one of my cousins-,”

“Yes, but this is _you_ we’re talking about! You mentioned he used to come visit to stargaze, right? What if he hid it there when he came over?”

“My uncle was not a small man. I think I would have noticed if he were climbing bookcases to shove a leopard on one. And anyway, _I live in my house_. I think I would have found it,” she adds, but she sounds less certain as she continues talking.

“But you’re not sure,” Todd says, “Why?”

“…I mean, my parents have a key. He _could_ have come in when I wasn’t at home, but…why would he put in my house? Why not just give it to me? I mean, why even keep it all these years? I just- it still doesn’t make sense! He could have just given it to me years ago.”

“Maybe- and it’s not really my place to say,” Dirk starts carefully, “but _maybe_ he meant for it to be this way. Maybe he meant to show you that there are some things you can’t lose. Even if you do.”

“…that actually made sense,” Todd says, glancing back at Dirk, who is studiously looking out the window. _And even more so because it’s coming from him._ He feels a little like he’s found his own note, stuck in between the words Dirk has said.

“Sure. But it was literally, physically lost,” Iris says, shaking her head even as she smiles.

Todd and Dirk’s chorus of _true_ echo in the car and they make it to Iris’ in five minutes, a small house painted pale blue with a slightly-overgrown yard. There are purplish-blue flowers in the front garden and a row of tiny cacti by the door.

“Where do we look?” Iris asks, leading them inside. “Oh- and do you want anything to drink?”

“I’m fine,” Todd says, glancing at Dirk.

“Do _you_ have a basement? Or an attic?”

“…an attic, yeah,” Iris says, looking uncomfortable, “but I hate going up there. Doesn’t feel safe.”

“Why?” Todd asks, suddenly uneasy.

“I don’t know. It just feels weird to walk up there. Like I’m going to fall through.”

“I hate to say it, but that’s _probably_ where he put it,” Dirk says, wincing in exaggerated sympathy. “How do we get up?”

“…the garage,” Iris says grudgingly, pointing into the distance, and they all traipse off. The ladder itself, which unfolds from a hatch in the garage ceiling, is unpainted and basic.

Dirk, of course, sprints right up. His exclamations of wonder echo as Todd follows, pausing when he gets to the top. He looks back to see Iris at the foot of the ladder, an expression of consternation on her face. She still grips the sides of the ladder, though, as if determined to do it.

“We can look for you,” Todd offers, somehow reminded of Amanda despite his best efforts. She’d been pretty outgoing as a kid, but pararibulitis had made her withdraw. At least before the Rowdies, that is. “That’s what you hired us for.”

“I think that would defeat the point,” Iris smiles halfheartedly, although her hesitancy seems to have dissipated. “According to Dirk, at least.”

She follows them up then, clearly uncomfortable but determined. When Iris reaches the top, her eyes widen. Dirk is already shuffling around, peering into boxes- some are plastic, sealed carefully, and others are cardboard and musty. There are at least a dozen in the small space, placed randomly as if shoved up from the ladder and left where they landed.

“What is all this?”

“What, you mean these aren’t yours?” Dirk asks, half-yelling from his place further away.

“No- I told you, I don’t like coming up here. I never put anything up here because I would have had to take it down.”

Todd opens a nearby box, curious, and starts thumbing through the contents. It doesn’t take a genius to see what’s there- stacks and stacks of records, all alphabetized, the covers protected by thin plastic sleeves. Some of them are, if he’s remembering correctly, almost priceless.

“Wow. This- Iris, these are… _incredible_.”

“They’re his,” she says faintly, in another corner with another box. “I thought…I thought they were gone. Sold, or lost. He never even mentioned what happened to them.”

“I guess he thought you’d appreciate them,” Todd smiles to himself, “like the books.”

“The boxes are numbered,” Dirk says, turning a container towards them so that they can see. Inside, a red paper with a three on it is pressed up against the clear plastic. “How long was it missing?”

“Seventeen years,” Iris realizes, turning quickly, “Seventeen…seventeen…”

Somehow, Todd finds it. He pulls it out from under a heavy box, carefully moving it towards the ladder. _This is it._ Part of him hopes it’s there. That there is no treasure map or wild goose chase.

But part of him almost wants that. The craziness that comes with a case, the adrenaline and experience and everything else that comes with it. _Maybe we have that now, too, though._ Just a little less life-threatening and a little more…comfortable. Liveable.

“I found it!”

The other two hurry over and Dirk bounces on his heels, watching as Iris carefully pops off the lid of the fittingly white box. Her smile, when she sees the contents, is the first true joy they’ve seen on her face since meeting her. Some of whatever pain she’s been carrying around- from her uncle’s death and the stress of trying to solve the mystery- dissipates, gone in the face of the _very_ cute stuffed animal.

It’s almost like a teddy bear, large and upright, but its squishy face has whiskers and triangle ears. The stuffed leopard (which is a snow leopard) is clearly old but in mint condition. It’s also the size of a toddler.

“You found it. Thank you,” she laughs, squeezing it as if she’s been waiting to do so for her entire life (which is partially true).

“ _We_ found it,” Todd corrects, glancing at Dirk over her head, and if the smile he finds makes him smile back then he won’t deny it.

* * *

Despite having worked only part of a day, Iris sends them off with a hefty sum (which doesn’t make them feel too guilty, considering she has several hundred thousand dollars’ worth of records in her attic). Dirk and Todd pick up Thai for dinner on the way home in celebration and when they get back, typing up the report and adding it to their case files doesn’t take long.

Dirk insists on calling Farah.

“We had a _case_ , Farah! Not one with people shooting at us, either, just a _normal-_ well, I guess it depends on your perception of ‘normal’- but a normal case with a normal person and normal missing object!”

Farah interrogates Dirk first and then Todd, the detective passing the phone in favor of showering.

“ _Is there anything you need to add to that story? As in, any life-threatening bits Dirk may have glossed over?_ ”

“No. Of course not. We’re fine,” Todd says quickly. “It really was normal. Well- confusing and convoluted, but other than that.”

“ _Really? I mean…I guess that’s good. There have to be some normal cases, right?_ ”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Todd snorts, turning the tap on to rinse off his reusable chopsticks (which were an eco-friendly purchase by Dirk, since they eat noodles often enough).

There is a resulting shout of indignation from the shower and Todd quickly shuts off the tap, laughing suddenly, realizing his mistake. It’s a cheap apartment for sure (no matter how home-y it’s starting to feel, with Dirk and the agency).

“ _What? What was that?_ _Todd-_ ,”

“It’s nothing,” Todd snickers, hoping Dirk doesn’t try for retribution. “I just- I turned the tap off and Dirk’s showering, so-,”

He stops himself. Honestly, he’s not sure how much more he would have said without realizing, but Farah makes a noise and then his brain shuts down. _Oh, no._ Suddenly everything comes flooding back to him- Tina’s questions (- _are Dirk and Todd?_ ) and Iris ( _how long have you been together?_ ) and the rest of the entire stupid universe.

“Wait- I didn’t-,”

“ _No, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was interrupting,_ ” Farah says quickly, almost hysterical, and it sounds like she wants to laugh and scream (which is probably true, and Todd feels the same way). “ _I’ll talk to you both soon. Good night!_ ”

She hangs up before he can say anything and he’s left with a burning face and the realization that it’s going to take him a while to be able to face Dirk. The universe chooses to mock him again and Dirk emerges from the shower, in his peculiar greyish sweatpants _and nothing else_.

“Todd, I thought we had an _agreement_ about timing-,”

“YessorryIwasdistractedsosorry,” is what comes out of Todd’s mouth as he practically sprints past Dirk, throwing himself into the shower without a second thought.

Dirk hits him with the cold water two minutes in.

* * *

They do two other cases- one about a disappearing girl (who is pretending to go to the library ever Monday but is actually planning a proposal, which is kind of adorable) and one about a strange man moving into an apartment complex (who turns out to be a struggling writer that works night hours). The jobs pay well and Dirk seems happy to solve each of them, however simple and fortuitous the solutions are. Each of the cases lasts less than a week.

Except Todd keeps thinking about the stupid fucking stuffed leopard.

Or, more appropriately, he keeps thinking about Iris hugging the leopard. It had triggered something- a thought he’d had before but never quite followed up on. He had categorized all the evidence, come to a solid conclusion, and had left the fact buried in the back of his mind as if he never intended to do anything about it. Which is not being a Good Friend.

This fact is that Dirk has… _different_ rules about touching.

He’s fine with touching others. Sometimes, they’re ducking behind a bush and Dirk’s hand is on Todd’s shoulder, as if he expects Todd to spring up like an idiot and try to follow people (which is beyond stupid). Other times, Dirk guide Todd with a hand at his back, brief but firm. When he gets a particularly good hunch or revelation, Dirk will positively _grab_ Todd’s arm and hold it for as long as it takes him to either articulate or decide which direction to sprint in.

But never has Dirk actually accepted touch. Sure, he doesn’t shrink from the brush of hands over diner napkins or the bump of legs on the bus. But he decidedly does not respond to specific stimuli. More notably, hugs. He has been on the receiving end of a hug and all he’s done is awkwardly pat in return, rigid and almost confused for the duration of the contact.

And the stupid leopard had reminded Todd.

So, like a Good Friend, he knows he has to do something. He assumes the aversion has something to do with Blackwing, like most things do. He can imagine horrors- people holding Dirk down for terrible experiments or guards bear-hugging him to wrestle him to the ground. He can imagine the opposite- no touch, ever, and Dirk slowly growing avoidant of it. There are plenty of things Todd can imagine, but he doesn’t _know_ and so the only thing he can really do without making it worse is ask.

Except he doesn’t know how and then the universe- the fucking universe- answers his prayers with the wrong thing, again.

They’re typing the details of the last case- or rather, Todd is while Dirk washes dishes- and then it happens. Todd reaches for a pencil and knocks a glass over absentmindedly, startled. The crash it makes startles him, jolting, and then there is glass everywhere. It’s in his hands, on his chest, on his face, his feet, and it’s too much. He falls sideways from his chair, hitting the ground, and that just makes the shards dig deeper. There’s a vague crash in the kitchen and It makes the hallucination worse, everything swirling as Todd tries to stay sane.

Somehow, Dirk manages to get Todd to swallow his medicine and then it passes, the glass turning to sand and then nothingness. The floor is hard and Todd blinks, looking at the cracked paint at the bottom of the wall in front of his face. Dirk is kneeling close by, nervous energy radiating from him almost as completely as his usual joy does.

“…can I hug you?”

“No,” Dirk says immediately. It seems like a knee-jerk response. Todd pauses. A look of vague horror crosses Dirk’s face and his mouth moves silently. “I- well, if you- you can-,”

“It’s fine, Dirk,” Todd tells him carefully, peeling his stupid body from the ground. _Guess it only works once._ “I’m going to shower, okay?”

Dirk just nods vaguely and Todd leaves, feeling a little cold and useless, wondering how on earth he can make this better.

* * *

_I am a horrible friend._

He feels miserable almost immediately after refusing and a lot worse when Todd goes to shower. Dirk stares at the soapy water in the sink as if it has answers and looks forlornly back towards the bedroom.

No wasn’t quite what he meant. Or he did, but it’s not what he wanted. He certainly didn’t want Dirk to walk away feeling unwanted. Uncared for. It’s just that there’s so much _there_ and Dirk had been almost unable to cope, too many options and questions and experiences floating through his mind.

He finishes the dishes and goes to clean up the broken glass when he hears the water shut off. He’s still thinking of how to act- his immediate response is to run to the shower, as well (because that works for them and it’s probably irony that they find water to be some sort of safe zone). But he isn’t one to run. At least not anymore.

(Not since Todd told him _don’t run_ and then showed up in the house, miraculously and stupidly, to save him).

He’s picking up a piece of glass when he cuts his hand, which is probably the universe prompting him to say something, so he stops in the middle of cleaning and looks up to see Todd hesitating by the couch.

“I’m sorry,” Dirk blurts, because he kind of is, no matter how much he knows it’s not his fault.

“It’s fine,” Todd starts, looking a little regretful, as if it’s his fault for asking such a simple favor of someone who is supposed to be his friend (and Dirk really, _really_ hopes he’s not adding to Todd’s self-hatred).

“No, it’s not- I closed off and I shouldn’t have done that. You needed my help, and-,”

“And you helped me,” Todd says firmly, a smile flickering in the corners of his mouth, “Or was it the ghost with the pills again?”

“Todd, I mean it. I- you have made it clear I can talk to you, and so I will. I was always kept so…far from others, when I was in Blackwing. And maybe I wanted a normal life, but I’m not really equipped for that. They took that from me. I _want_ to know how to be normal but I really…can’t.”

“No one expects you to be _normal_ ,” Todd says, shaking his head, “and honestly, I think it would be kind of terrifying. You wouldn’t be… _you_.”

“But I _want_ to be a good friend and I want to be able to help you! I just- I don’t really know how to deal with anything like a hug; I just haven’t ever had to and I-,”

“Dirk,” Todd says firmly. The silence is back again (and it terrifies Dirk each time, because he never knows if it’s going to be the moment he’s finally sent away). The silence stretches a little past normal and Dirk feels his heart jump into his throat before he realizes Todd’s brow is wrinkled, realization in his eyes. “Are you _bleeding_? Jesus- don’t move.”

There’s a flurry of activity during which Dirk realizes he is, in fact, bleeding. He says _ow_ to the air, displeased by the sudden pain that floods him, and then he feels a little ill. Todd is back after what seems like only a second, a jumble of supplies in hand, and he sits cross-legged across from Dirk.

Dirk takes a moment to contemplate.

He’s no Farah; Todd takes a fumbling while to open and apply antibiotic, cursing under his breath the entire time. He’s careful, though, with the practiced hands of one Dirk assumes has made a career out of being an older brother. Todd is ultra-focused in a way he rarely is, unless they’re in a life-or-death situation, which is funny because it’s just a cut.

In fact, it is so funny that it makes Dirk laugh. Todd glances up at him, clearly confused and probably wondering whether he needs to call an ambulance.

“You’re not delirious, are you? Dirk? Do you- is it the blood? Don’t look, okay-,”

“May I…have a hug?”

He’s not sure why he asks (but that’s not entirely true; he does, he just isn’t letting himself recognize it). Dirk thinks maybe this is really what Best Friends are like- messing up terribly and then trying to patch things up. Maybe the band-aid isn’t perfectly wrapped and maybe it feels a little tight, but it’s there and it’s helping and now everything is right again.

Todd pulls him close, careful not to send the supplies flying, and Dirk feels for the first time as if he is _home._ The walls don’t stop him anymore. There is no box, real or imagined; just the feeling of arms encircling him and some sort of promise he can’t articulate.

“You’ll feel better if you hug back,” Todd mutters. Dirk can tell without looking that he’s probably blushing.

“If you say so,” Dirk replies, already grinning and already feeling better.

Todd is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I did.  
> So, this happened. I'm probably really bad at writing cases but I wanted some normal-grade shenanigans to run alongside the domestic air we're getting. Anyway, this is a slow (hella slow) burn but I hope you enjoy it.  
> * Also, there was once a cat constellation named Felis. Joseph Jérôme de Lalande created it in 1799 because there were no cats in the sky and astronomers were like 'pfft, whatever' and it basically disappeared. I felt a little sad for the cat constellation and also thought it made sense to add in, considering Dirk's fears of people disappearing or leaving him.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as something else and just...did a thing. I might add follow-ups or chapters to firmly cement the slash in there, which is what I initially intended, but it just kind of morphed into a Complicated Friendship fic. Anyway, let me know what you think and if you want to see more.  
> Oh, and I blame the friend that *literally* sat me down and MADE me watch DGHDA. I am weak and am now firmly in the fandom.


End file.
